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Forgotten shadows
Silence hung like a choking grasp in the air, every fibre hanging on the edge of a invisible string that connected the world around it with the fibre next to it. Ancient dust clung to every surface like a fine layer of skin, any movement or the slightest touch forever marked into its surface for the next to pass to see where the motions of those before had once been. No light inhabited this place, two great doors sealing itself away from the outside that had so long forgotten this places existence that no being of the world has seen it in nearly 300 years. This was a place of the cold darkness that grasped onto everything now, a crypt like vault silent to everything but itself as its contents sat sealed away from prying eyes, and yet if but one being would listen the glimpse of even a word of its existence would drive people to the most extremes to obtain it over the lives of others in a perpetual race to claim what the world had forgotten. The great doors to this ancient place were mottled with rust, hydraulic pistons locking it tight leaking oily fluid like life blood slowly dripping away as they remained tightly clamped shut still to all those that had come before, a single blinking red light the only source of light that ever graced this realm within a world. And yet for all the lives lost to a glimpse of even its briefest shadow the vault would not remain silent forever, for each day brought a chance that it would be the final day of silence, that day when the great doors would creak and whine and groan as they parted to permit entry once more to those that proved worthy enough or capable enough to claim what lay inside. And unbeknownst to the darkness that slithered and wrapped itself around this ancient secret that day had brought its own darkness to reclaim its lost treasures, and by doing so bathed it in a new light that had been kindled by the human heart since its first days walking the planes of its homes, the light that drove them onwards and forwards through the most base of instincts, to conquer and claim, the light of war. With a shriek of torn metal the doors skidded open on ancient castors that had long since seized in place, foul lubricants having worn away to leave metal pressed against metal with small shreds of desiccated rubber gripped between them. At the first crack, beams of light poured into the once sealed vault, catching at the edges of crates and pallets of cargo still baring the ghostly thin transfer wafers glued to their sides as more beams of light skittered into the vault followed by shadowy figures close behind before the entire vault was filled by individual beams as the figures moved in, more beams covering the slip way leading down to the long forgotten vault entrance as groups of figures followed the first into the vault, halting a little behind them as the first stood looking the crates, pallets and boxes over with calculating eyes the breeze of new air catching slightly at the corners of the great coat they wore over their shoulders. Another to the first’s left knelt down and flipped the lock catches off of a pallet marked ’Mining tools’, sat nestled within lay well wrapped long packages of some sort. Pulling one out and ripping the cloth off they passed the package to the first figure who looked it over with little expression before a wicked grin split the corner of their mouth, “Perfect” a song like accent caught slipped forth before they held up a hand and motioned for the others to begin opening crates with two fingers; the sound of crates being opened and latches clicking soon filling the vault, the figure still standing to his right raised an eyebrow before eliciting a shark like grin of their own as the first past the uncovered weapon over to them like a parent showing their eldest child an interesting book, “Right where the old records said they’d be” the grinning figure took the compact rifle, checking it over before testing it on a nearby pallet box, reducing the box to a pile of molten plastic slag in a shriek of thermal energy, “Lets see the tin cans get past these thermal gallowglass” the shark like grin looked over at the first figure as the figures around them smirked and grinned at one another whilst the first simply drew a cigar from a pocket and lit it, the glowing embers throwing light that caught at the edges of the figures face making their features like that of a spectre from ancient myths. “Strip the vault and load the majority for transport, I want 10 percent ready for dispatch to our new ‘customers’ in this so called black market by next rotation, understood?” the song like accent cut through the air in a barked order as the smoking figure turned around and walked from the remnants of the darkened stash vault and back into their own brand of light, their eyes glinting with purpose and darkness in equal measure as the sound of barked ascents carried back and forth over the sound of emptying crates… Back to Downtimes